


Home Away From Home

by violue



Series: Carnival Oasis [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bottom Castiel, M/M, Minor Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester, No Tulips, Sex, mention of pregnant character, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-11-15 01:26:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11220369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violue/pseuds/violue
Summary: “You wish to make a home with me,” Castiel says softly. “A life that is just ours.”





	Home Away From Home

**Author's Note:**

> You know how sometimes you can just drop into a verse at random? This isn't one of those verses, go read the rest of the series first if you haven't.
> 
> Proofread by the lovely [Kris](http://kelisab.tumblr.com) and [Lydie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatabadchoice/pseuds/whatabadchoice). If you find mistakes, feel free to leave flaming bags of poo outside their doors.

They’ve been out for two weeks. A werewolf hunt just outside Tulsa, a shapeshifter in Omaha, a wendigo that’s somehow ended up in Flathead National Forest.

With Castiel by Dean’s side, the werewolf and shapeshifter problems are taken care of fairly quickly. The wendigo, however, is not. Dean and Castiel had heard screams of fear and anguish coming from two separate directions, and Castiel was unable to tell which was the human victim, and which was the wendigo mimicking them. They’d split up, so Dean knew there was a fifty-fifty chance he was going to go face a wendigo alone.

As he lies on the cold forest floor, face sticky with blood, rapidly bleeding out from a wound in his side, Dean takes a moment to acknowledge to himself that splitting up was a terrible idea. The wendigo isn’t dead, but it’s lying on the ground, letting out hideous groans of agony from the many, many silver bullets Dean put in its body. Dean would love to light it on fire, but he used up nearly all his energy firing those bullets. Now he can’t move, can’t speak enough to yell out to Castiel, and certainly can’t dig his zippo out of his pocket and start a fire.

He’s dying, he knows. The ambient noise of the forest has faded, it’s getting even darker than it was already, his body isn’t hurting. But Dean’s not scared. He was scared in the fight, when adrenaline was coursing through him and his fight or flight instincts were in overdrive, but now he’s fine.

Castiel will come.

A flash, something bright and orange in the corner of Dean’s vision.

A distant cracking sound, and the wendigo’s twisted moans cut off abruptly.

Despair and concern wash over Dean in waves; not his own, it’s Castiel’s. Castiel drops to his knees next to Dean, wings out and flapping in distress. They look odd… in fact all of Castiel looks odd. There’s this golden light… shifting and twisting like smoke… like those artistic renditions of auras Dean’s seen in books, only… this aura seems larger, it has its own shape… what is that?

Castiel takes Dean’s hand, and looks down at him imploringly. “Confess,” he demands.

There it is, that’s what Dean was saving his energy for. “Love you,” he croaks out, and then he can’t help but let go.

  
  


*

  
  


Castiel won’t leave Dean’s side. It’s been twelve hours since Dean almost died, the surviving victims are safe and at the hospital, the wendigo is a pile of charred flesh on the forest floor, everything is fine. But Castiel won’t leave Dean’s side. He drifts behind Dean like a beautiful and agitated shadow; when Dean fills up the Impala with gas, when he pays their bill at the diner, when he goes to the laundromat down the street from their motel. When Castiel tries to follow him into the restroom at the laundromat, Dean decides he’s had enough.

“ _Cas,_ ” he snaps, “I’m _fine._ I can do this alone.”

Castiel nods solemnly and waits outside the door. _Right_ outside the door. Dean’s so busy drying his hands on his pockets that he walks right into him and Castiel falls like a stone.

“Aren’t you usually a bit sturdier than that?” Dean says, pulling Castiel to his feet.

“Let’s see how sturdy _you_ are after tapping into your own essence to pull a human soul back from death,” Castiel grouses.

“Oh, you’re…”

“Weakened.”

“Sorry,” Dean says awkwardly. “You don’t need to hover right behind me, though. I’m fine.”

“You nearly died.”

“So? You’ll follow me anywhere, right?” Dean nudges Castiel playfully. There’s an old woman at the other end of the room, staring at them while she loads a giant comforter into one of the large dryers. She’s probably staring because Castiel is barefoot and wearing a lime green cassock, but who knows.

“You are my mate, your life is sacred to me whether there is another life waiting for you or not. Your life on Earth… _our_ life on Earth is not finished yet.” Castiel’s voice is fierce, and Dean finds himself looking away, embarrassed.

“I’m just… trying not to be upset about something that didn’t happen. I uh, I still value my life and all. And I wouldn’t want to leave Sammy just yet.”

“I apologize if I’m… hovering… but it doesn’t matter that I can follow you, Dean, it was still truly horrible to see you broken and dying. The forest reeked of your blood.”

“I get it, it wasn’t a picnic for me either, but I survived, and I need a normal, human amount of space when I want to do things like fill up my car or take a damn leak.”

“Ah, yes. Personal space.”

“Personal space,” Dean repeats, nodding.

“Do you need personal space at this particular moment?”

Dean smiles, reaching out to take Castiel’s hand. “Nah.”

  
  


*

  
  


It used to be that Dean would come back from a hunt exhausted, aching, physically in need of rest. That’s not true anymore. Castiel doesn’t heal every single ache and injury that comes Dean’s way, but he heals the worst of it, and Dean gets less beat up on hunts with a mostly-angel by his side.

Even though he’s not as sore after hunts anymore, Dean still takes it easy. Often his mind needs a break, and part of it is that he’s simply used to operating this way. With Castiel fretting over him like he’s still actively dying, Dean hopes his rest period will at least be full of really, really good food.

“It’s how people show love,” Dean says as he pulls the Impala up to Sam’s house.

“Yes, I’ve heard that,” Castiel says, nodding sagely. He’s fidgeting with the little stuffed bear he gave Dean the day they met. “Though I think perhaps you’re just looking to stuff your face.”

“Hey if I can stuff my face while you feel like a good caregiver, it’s a win for both of us, right?”

Castiel lets out a derisive snort. “I suppose.”

The house is decorated with plastic pumpkins and clumsily thrown fake cobwebs. Dean’s not _entirely_ sure what day it is, but he hopes he didn’t miss out on Halloween candy.

“Don’t worry,” Castiel says when Dean stalls to look at the decorations, “Halloween is next week.”

“Thought you couldn’t read minds,” Dean says, checking to see if the front door is locked before pulling out his house key.

“When your mate’s entire being suddenly begins screaming for candy, it’s hard not to notice.”

“Just in time!” Jess yells from the couch when Dean opens the front door. Sam’s typing away on his laptop, which is perched on the legs Jess has thrown over his lap.

“In time for what?”

“Showgirls is about to start, can you get me a beer?”

“ _Showgirls,_ Mrs. Winchester?” Dean says, grinning.

“Hey, it’s Friday and I want to _chill,_ buddy. Mama needs her bad movies and her brewskies!”

Who says "brewskies" anymore? “Yeah, yeah your highness, I’ve been out hunting evil for two weeks but I can see how going _all the way to the kitchen_ would be too much for you.”

Jess grins, firing a finger gun Dean’s way and winking.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Castiel says, following Dean into the kitchen.

Dean snorts. “Have you ever tried to watch Showgirls sober?”

“I mean that alcohol might not be what she needs right now,” Castiel says. There’s an odd tone to his voice, like he’s trying to infer a point that’s sailing right over Dean’s head.

“I don’t think she really _needs_ the alcohol, Cas, she just wants to kick back.” Dean opens the fridge and reaches for one of Jess’ frou-frou imported microbrews.

Castiel sighs. “Jessica is _pregnant,_ Dean.”

“What?! She is?!” Dean stammers. It almost sounds like there’s an echo of his voice, that’s when he realizes Sam is in the kitchen too. “Jess is pregnant, Sam?”

Sam’s got this look on his face like he just got his dick caught in his zipper. “Uh… I didn’t think she was?”

Sam and Dean both look at Castiel, who’s staring awkwardly into space. “A human pregnancy often gives off a fairly distinct sort of energy,” he offers.

“Holy shit,” Sam and Dean say at the same time.

“Dude,” Dean says, this time without Sam as his echo, “you gotta go tell your wife she’s pregnant.”

Sam’s jaw is still hanging open. “Isn’t this supposed to happen the other way around?” He looks dazed, but he grabs a ginger ale from the fridge and makes his way back into the living room.

Dean hears Jess yell “Bar wench! This isn’t what I ordered! Over my knee, with you!” which is just something he never needed to picture ever.

“Was she pregnant before we left?” Dean says, turning to Castiel, who shakes his head.

Ewwwwwwww.

“Are you fucking shitting me?” Jess shouts from the living room. “Holy shit. Holy _shit_!” There’s a crashing sound and Sam saying “ow!” and what sounds like kissing.

Dean wrinkles his nose in disgust. “Let’s go downstairs. _Please_.”

  
  


*

  
  


It’s a few hours later. Castiel is riding Dean’s lap, glowing with sweat and probably some coconut oil, eyes closed in near rapture. Dean’s about two seconds from coming, a little surge of grace will finish him off nicely. He likes when Castiel goes nova, he likes that the two of them fucking creates gardens in their basement “nest”. He opens his mouth to tell Castiel that he loves him, to shove them both over the edge, when Castiel’s eyes pop open and he clamps a hand over Dean’s mouth.

“Don’t,” Castiel mutters, “don’t say anything. Keep going, just like this.”

Dean’s a little confused by the request but he nods, pulling Castiel close and sealing their mouths together. Even without Castiel’s grace brimming at the surface it’s still electric, intense. Dean fucks up into Castiel again and again, until they’re both groaning and panting through their release.

Usually it takes a few minutes for Dean to get his wits about him, angelic energy throwing him for a loop, but this time they’re pulled apart for maybe thirty seconds before he looks over at Castiel.

“We okay?”

Castiel turns his head towards Dean, eyebrow quirked up like it does when Castiel thinks Dean is being obtuse. “Of course,” he says.

“You’ve never not wanted me to um… I mean I’m totally okay with the regular way too, but we usually…”

Castiel looks a little awkward, now. “It’s Jessica,” he says.

“What about her?”

“My grace flowing into you, our plants, occasionally your family and neighbors, that’s all fine. But a fetus is… there is a lot of growing and changing and even mutating happening, I’m concerned about what grace could do to that process.”

Dean nods slowly. That makes sense… ish. “So uh… no magical supernova sex until the kid pops out?”

“I think it’s for the best.”

Dean’s quiet for a couple of minutes. “Does that mean we gotta water all these fucking plants _ourselves_?”

  
  


*

  
  


They make it a month. A month of Castiel snacking on Dean’s sins while they’re on hunts or out for drives, a month of acrobatic but non-glowing sex. After two weeks they take the sod rolls out of the basement and tarp over the garden boxes. There’s just no way to keep those alive without Castiel’s grace, and Dean doesn’t want to spend nine months with dead grass in his room.

It’s fine, it’s great as always, but it’s not _them._ It feels weird, trying to dial back what they have while they’re still in sort of a honeymoon stage.

Not that they’re married.

Do angels get married?

“Not really,” Castiel says. It’s a school day, so no one is home but Dean, Castiel, and Sam’s dog. They’re on Sam’s couch, watching daytime TV with the volume low while Dean gives Castiel a foot rub. Dean’s wearing Castiel’s red cassock, and Castiel is wearing Dean’s Batman boxers and Superman t-shirt.

Sometimes they get a little bored.

“No ceremony or anything?” Dean says.

“Sometimes there is a ceremony, but nothing with white veils, or marriage licenses, or officiants.” Castiel looks up from Dean’s copy of The Sirens of Titan. “Why, would you like to get married?”

Dean feels himself blushing almost immediately. “No, I’m uh… I’m not really a _marriage_ kind of guy, I guess. I’m just curious.”

“Well, as I’ve mentioned, I was not exactly in demand socially, but I did attend a few… I suppose commitment ceremonies among angels.”

“What were they like?”

Castiel smiles. “Most were pleasant. Full of love. Hannah and Anna composed poems about each other, each poem was approximately seventy thousand words in length.”

Dean grimaces. “That sounds real fucking long.”

“Oh, it was. But,” Castiel says with a gentle shrug, “it’s eternity.”

“What else?”

“Well, let’s see… Michael mated to Hael, I remember it was quite controversial, Hael is of a much lower rank than Michael, and she was at the time quite young for an angel.”

Gross. “Like a kid?”

Castiel chuckles. “No, she was still thousands of years old, just nowhere near as old as Michael. Their ceremony involved Michael battling one hundred angels over one hundred days to prove his love for her.”

What. “Did he kill any of them?”

“Oh no, not that sort of battle, not to the death. More like a very intense sparring. There were many injuries, but I think killing his opponents outright would have harmed the mood.”

“Jesus Christ, angels are fucking weird.”

“It only seems that way because you grew up human. Angelic customs are just an unfamiliar culture.”

“I guess that’s true,” Dean says, fidgeting with Castiel’s toes. He has cute pinky toes.

Castiel narrows his eyes, looking a bit too astute for Dean’s comfort. “Are you sure you don’t want a ceremony?”

“Nah, that’d be weird. I mean who would I even invite? Sam, Jess, and the girls? Your annoying angel uncle? Your father the Devil?”

“We could exchange rings,” Castiel tries. “I know that symbols of commitment are often very important to humans…”

“They’re not. Or… okay they are to some people. But not me, I don’t care,” Dean lies weakly.

Castiel sets his book on the floor and swings his legs out of Dean’s lap. “If you are concerned that I will find your desires humorous or worthy of judgment, please know you don’t need to worry.”

“I guess I was just kind of thinking about that kind of marriage and kids stuff because of Sam and Jess.”

“Kids?”

“Woah, no. I don’t want kids. I super do not want kids. I just… I don’t know, Cas. I want to be with you… forever. I mean I know we only met this year, but… I mean it’s pretty obviously a forever thing with us, right? Usually when us humans decide that, we get married, or pop out some rugrats, or buy a house, or something like that. But I can’t do any of that. We can’t legally get married because… well I don’t think you even have a last name, I definitely can’t raise a kid, and I don’t have any money to buy a house.”

“I don’t need any of those things. Do you?”

Dean has so much embarrassed anxiety running through him it’s almost painful. “I guess not, not really. But sometimes I feel too much like we’re weird Uncle Dean and his boyfriend shacking up in the basement. Like we’re characters in Sam’s story instead of leading our own.” Dean groans, scrubbing both hands over his face. He doesn’t know what the fuck he’s feeling or how to explain it.

“You wish to make a home with me,” Castiel says softly. “A life that is just ours.”

“I’ve never felt like this before, Cas. I mean yeah I get all that cabin fever and gotta go out and hunt every few weeks, but this… I’m not used to feeling like this.”

“That doesn’t make it wrong.”

“No, but… it’s got me all mixed up.”

Castiel reaches over and laces their fingers together. “Dean, if you want to live on your own…”

“ _Our_ own.”

“Our own. If you want to do that… it doesn’t have to be permanent. We can try it for a while, we can come back. Sam has shown that we are very welcome here, but he loves you, I know he wants your happiness.”

“I’m gone all the time, but my home base has always been with Sam. Uh, except when he was in college, but that was a long-ass time ago. But I do… I want to see what it feels like to have my own life. Beyond being weird Uncle Dean, beyond being a hunter.”

“We can do that,” Castiel says. He kisses Dean’s temple, and Dean feels some of his anxiety drain away.

“Just for a while, right? And if I’m not happy we come back?”

Castiel pulls Dean closer, arms a comforting weight around him. “I have just the place.”

  
  


*

  
  


They’re in Oregon, so deep in the woods even the Impala is five miles back. Castiel had said this place was secluded, but holy shit. They'd walked a full mile from the Impala before even reaching the somewhat overgrown path. Castiel obviously knows the way by heart, but it’s good to know there’s a path for at least part of the way. There’s also little chance any person will be out here, though Dean has to wonder about shit like bears and cougars.

“Are there bears out here?” Dean says, wondering how he can be _this_ sweaty in November.

“You took on a wendigo a month ago, but you’re worried about bears?” Castiel says, looking amused. He’s actually in some traditional clothes, even has shoes on for the hike. He has a massive, comically sized pack strapped to his back that he’s been carrying this entire way. He’s also not nearly as sweaty as Dean is, the dick.

“I _lost_ that fight, remember?”

“I will do my best to keep you safe.”

“Alright, cool.” Annnnd that’s enough talking. This part of the walk is just uphill enough for Dean to be getting a little winded. This was a terrible idea.

Dean had been surprised when Castiel told him he had a _house,_ considering the homeless vibe the guy had when they met.

Castiel told Dean he hasn’t been to this place in over two decades, but that he’s “fairly confident” it will be livable. Apparently there’s running water, but no electricity, just a woodstove. Castiel is already talking about solar panels or buying a generator he can power with his grace, which honestly sounds pretty cool, but they don’t have those things right _now,_ so it’s going to be a cold day in some dusty old cabin that’s probably covered in cobwebs and full of raccoons. Is this _really_ going to be better than a warm basement?

“Ah, here we are,” Castiel says suddenly.

They’ve finally come to a gap in the seemingly endless trees and the path that seemed to disappear entirely at times. It’s a clearing, technically, though it’s certainly not clear of mangled old bushes or overgrown grasses that are mostly dead because it’s god damn November. There is a house, though; not at all the dinky little shack Dean was expecting. It’s hard to make out the details of the house, there’s so much miscellaneous forest growth on every part: dirt, moss, fallen leaves from trees Dean can’t even see in the vicinity. As they get closer, Dean can see that the small porch has rotted away on one side, but the doors and windows all seem intact. There’s even a loft or an attic. How the hell did Castiel build this?

“You built this?” Dean says, looking the place over. Sure, it’s a mess, but it’s more than Dean could do.

“I have a great deal of free time,” Castiel says with a shrug.

“How come you don’t live here?”

“I lived here for years,” Castiel says wistfully, “but I got bored. I was here alone, after all.”

“Thought you could talk to animals,” Dean says, nudging Castiel with one elbow.

“I can. I assure you the novelty of that wore off a very long time ago, the average deer or rabbit only has so many topics it cares about.”

“Like what?”

“Food. Did I hear that sound too. Food. Why do I smell different. Food.” Castiel’s trying to make it sound boring, but Dean’s still jealous.

“Do you think they’ll help us clean this place up?”

Castiel kisses Dean’s cheek. The grass and brambles closest to them are starting to come back to life, Castiel must be very happy. “You’ve seen too many Disney movies.”

“Is that a no?”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Dean grins, taking Castiel’s hand in his. His hand is sweaty as fuck, but all Castiel does is squeeze and hold tight. “Well okay then, let’s get started.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I've missed posting, just haven't been writing as much as I used to... but Dean and Cas are always on my mind. <3
> 
> Here's the tumblr post for this fic! [Clicky](http://violue.tumblr.com/post/161911439448/title-home-away-from-home-part-of-carnival)!


End file.
